Cut Glass Heart
by Wryly Fantarding
Summary: [CGH] As a war with Kusa looms on the horizon, a group of shinobi linked by circumstance and family must learn who to trust and how to truly live. [GenHaya]
1. Prologue

_**Disclaimer: **Naruto is not our toy, although sometimes we wish it was. Almost everyone you meet here belongs to Masashi Kishimoto, we just borrow them, occasionally. Hayate's parents, Gekkou Ken'ichirou and Gekkou Shizuka, and Hayate's sensei, Kaifune Dana, belong to Haya Madison, and Genma's mother, Shiranui Riza, and Raidou's sister, Namiashi Yuuko, are all Penbrydd's fault. All quotes from the Tao are from Henricks's 1989 translation. (Lao-Tzu. Te-Tao Ching. ed. Henricks, Robert G. New York: Ballantine, 1989.) _

_**Author's Note:** Unlike our other semi-epic fic, Corybantic Dance, Cut-Glass Heart is set in something like the canon-verse. The differences are few and far between, and none are particularly significant, yet. _

_Penbrydd does love his adrenaline-junkie!Genma..._

_**Warnings:** A bit of the old ultra-violence, expletives, eventual yaoi (GenHaya)._

* * *

**Prologue**  
Hayate watched his mother pass back and forth down the hall, through the house, from his futon in his bedroom. The door was open for once, and the nine-year-old boy could see her as she stomped through the house, apparently getting ready to go out on work-related business. At least, that was what it looked like. Hayate found this odd and a little alarming. He knew that his mother had been permanently discharged from ANBU (even if they did call it a "suspension") after she'd emerged from her four month stay in the psych ward, which had directly followed her very last and very bad mission to Kusa. So he knew that she couldn't be going back _there_. At the very least, it didn't look like she had her ANBU uniform in her hands, but then, she hadn't taken the discharge well at all. Hayate supposed, somewhere in the back of his mind, that he could understand that. It had been ANBU, after all, that had broken her in the first place. 

Either way, it was obvious that his mother was going _somewhere_, and the fact was confirmed when she stepped into his room instead of passing it, buckling on her weapon pouch. She was wearing the standard uniform instead of civilian clothes or her old ANBU uniform. Hayate sniffled a little and coughed into his hand, looking up. "Where are you going?" he asked, curious and blunt, as his mother squatted beside him.

"I've got some work to do today, Hayate," she said, reaching to smooth back his hair a little. He frowned.

"You're not going back to ANBU, are you?"

His mother's jaw tightened, and Hayate knew he'd said the wrong thing, because now that she was back from the hospital, ANBU was one of those things they were Not Supposed to Talk About. "No, Hayate," she said, and Hayate relaxed. The tightness still bore about her face, but it didn't look as though he'd pushed the wrong buttons too hard. "Not going back there."

Hayate seemed to consider things a moment, coughing quietly. "But you look like you're going back to work," he pointed out, a bit cautiously. Shizuka just nodded, absent-mindedly drawing the sheets up about her son higher.

"I am," she confirmed. "Mommy's going back to regular missions now, Hayate. I'll be in charge of a fresh team of tokubetsu jounin from now on." She smoothed back the hair from his face again, and there was a brief moment of silence -- of nothing -- before she leaned forward and dropped a kiss on his warm forehead. She patted him and stood, brushing herself off. "I've got to go now, Hayate. Dad will be home in a few hours, I think, and I'll be back sometime later. Make sure you rest and take your medicine. Be good, Hayate."

Hayate reached out and closed his hand around her ankle, looking up at her with large, dark eyes. "Be careful, Mom," he said, his voice reedy and painfully sincere. Shizuka just gave him a small, wry smile.

"I'm not going on a mission, Hayate, I'm just going to meet the boys." She tugged her foot free of her son's grasp, and his hand fell to the floor limply. "I'll be back later." She left the room, closing the door halfway behind her, and Hayate watched her with baleful eyes as she went.

* * *

Shiranui Genma was, as usual, profoundly unimpressed. He'd made tokujou the previous week, and that was probably the high point of the year, if not his entire life. The prospect of meeting his new team wasn't exactly thrilling -- especially if they were anything like his last team. Kyoumi had been amusing, when she wasn't trying to take over the world, right down to the tiny details. Philosophy was fine -- it was when she started telling him how to wear his pants that she really got irritating. He would never admit that she'd been right, but he didn't have to admit that -- she already knew. Even the philosophy was a rough topic when Himaru was around, though. Himaru had never been the brightest candle, and he had a nasty habit of punching his teammates in the face when they stopped making sufficient sense. All Genma needed was another team like that, and he'd just stop having a nose -- or a sense of reality. 

He stuffed his hands in his pockets as he approached the training grounds, where he was supposed to be meeting the new team. He knew nothing about them -- including their names. Slotting three senbon between the fingers of his right hand, Genma examined the trees circling the field. He would not be taken by surprise. Within seconds, he spotted the solemn-faced mountain of a man leaning against a tree.

"Waiting for your team?" Genma called out as he approached. "I think that leaves us wanting only two. I remember you from the Academy -- you're kind of hard to miss -- but I don't think we ever met. I'm --"

"You're Shiranui Genma, the walking cock," the large man finished.

Genma snorted, derisively, and flicked his senbon. "I think the phrase you're looking for is 'cock of the walk'." _Great, another Himaru -- all bulk and no brains._

"No, I'm sure I said what I meant. 'Walking cock' -- I've heard about you, not least from my little sister." The large man stood up straight, looming over Genma, who only came to his chin. "Namiashi Raidou. You ever look at my sister, and I'll break both your knees. Just so we're clear."

"Good man. I'll keep that in mind." Genma bowed. "Do you know who our third is?" He seemed completely unfazed by the threat, and Raidou found himself with a sort of grudging respect for his new teammate -- anyone who could take a statement like that perfectly seriously, file it, and then just move on was obviously going to be good for more than he appeared.

"Didn't get a list." Raidou leaned back against the tree, but he didn't have time to stand around for much longer -- only a moment later did a third figure appear on the training fields, quickly headed their way, but as she drew nearer -- and it was unmistakably a woman -- it was clear she wasn't their third. For one, she was clearly older than them -- somewhere in her early thirties or late twenties, it looked -- and there was something about her stature, the way she held herself, that suggested higher rank.

As she came closer to Genma and Raidou, both of those things became more apparent, as did the wild look about her -- something that centred around her eyes in particular, a threat lurking malignantly beneath a deceptively dormant surface. "There are only two of you here. Where's your third?" The words were all but barked out in a harsh, brassy voice that fit perfectly with the sharp-featured face of the woman. Something on the pale side, with battle-hardened features -- the skin almost looked as though it were stretched over her bones, pulled too tight by years of built up stress and buried mission trauma that was standard fare for anyone above genin rank. Her face was framed by a few locks of shoulder-length brown hair, though the majority of it was swept back away from her face. She was wearing the standard issue uniform, though it looked as though her sleeves had been torn or cut off at some point, leaving her arms bare. The scarlet tattoo on her right arm stood out boldly, almost challengingly, against the pale skin. The woman gave them a wild, hard-faced look, waiting for an answer.

"How the fuck should I know?" Genma demanded. "I don't even know who he is, nevermind where. Who the fuck are you?" He eyed the woman suspiciously -- not because she was a woman, by any stretch of the imagination, but because she had dropped in with no warning and failed to introduce herself. It paid to be careful in their line of work.

Raidou tried to blend into the tree and failed completely. The new arrival was probably their _captain_, and if Shiranui wanted to get killed, that was his business. Raidou wanted no part of that. Just the same, he would wait until she presented herself _properly_ before he introduced himself. It was always best to make damn sure that one was speaking to the person one expected to be speaking to.

The woman just smiled thinly, dangerously, before her hand shot out and grabbed hold of Genma's nose tightly. She yanked him forward sharply by his nose, cranking it to the side painfully, and leaned in to speak to him. "My name," she said, the wicked, deranged smile never leaving her face, "is Gekkou Shizuka. I'm your new captain." She studied Genma's face for a moment, scrutinising his features. "Watch your mouth, punk," she said, before letting go of Genma's nose and shoving him back. "Next time, I'll break it."

"Won't be the first time, taichou." Genma snorted and rubbed his nose, then offered a polite and correct bow. "Shiranui Genma. Yours for the duration." He smirked and flicked his senbon suggestively, purely an ingrained reflex.

As he offered a similar, if slightly less insolent, bow, Raidou speculated that Genma was very likely going to be dead by the end of the week, if not the day. At least the town bicycle's irrepressible _mouth_ would keep the attention off of him. "Namiashi Raidou. Pleased to meet you, taichou."

Shizuka's eyes flickered between them in a surveying manner -- there was something unsettlingly predatorial about her gaze. "So you do talk, then," she said blandly, addressing Raidou. "I was beginning to wonder if you were mute, or just stoic." Her gaze settled on the hilt of the sword strapped to Raidou's back. "A sword, eh. You a kenjutsu specialist, or do you just carry that thing around to compensate for something?"

"Kenjutsu is not my speciality, but I do study it. This is my weapon of choice. It serves me well." Raidou stood perfectly still -- his best impression of a small mountain -- and tried not to look defensive about his choice of weapons. Just because everyone _else_ in his father's family wielded a hammer didn't mean there was any reason for him to do the same.

Genma looked up inquisitively, but decided against asking what Raidou's speciality was after seeing the look on the large man's face. Some things were just better left unexplored -- besides, if he interrupted again, he'd probably get his face broken by one or both of them. Shizuka just nodded, seeming impressed with Raidou's utter calm. She opened her mouth as if to comment -- but the words never quite made it out, because someone else was talking first.

"Yo -- hey, am I late? Man, I knew I shouldn't have taken that extra five minutes in the shower..."

Shizuka's head swivelled to the source of the voice -- another young man around Genma and Raidou's age was jogging up to them, his hitai-ate tilted jauntily to the side. A good portion of his face was obscured by the large, dark sunglasses on his face, and his hair made it look as though he'd slept while doing a headstand on his pillow. He grinned unabashedly at Shizuka.

"Did I miss anything important? Hey, are you our taichou? 'Cause I don't think either of those two guys are...oh, man, is that an ANBU tattoo? You were in _ANBU_?"

Shizuka cut off his babbling with a sharp smack to the side of his head. He reeled back, staring at her in shock. "You just -- you just hit me!"

"You seem to have a penchant for stating the obvious," Shizuka all but snarled back. "What's your name? I assume you're their third. You're late."

"Yeah, uh, I -- Yamashiro Aoba. But I didn't mean to be late, so --"

"If you keep talking, Yamashiro, I'm going to break your face." Shizuka stared at him threateningly until he shut up and shuffled over to Genma and Raidou, looking fairly embarrassed. There was a sharp twang as Genma bit his senbon hard to keep from laughing. Shizuka propped her hand on her hip, the sword strapped to her back rustling slightly with the movement. "You should already know this, Yamashiro, but I'm going to pity your stupid and repeat it. My name is Gekkou Shizuka, and I'm your new captain." The predatorial smile was back to twist her lips. "Let me be honest with you. I'm not nice." Each word was said slowly, clearly, as if they needed to be in order to sink in properly. "I'm probably one of the worst team leaders that could be picked for a couple of rookies. I'm not going to baby you; I'm not going to walk you through this. If you're not ready for the kinds of missions we're obviously going to be taking on, then you should already know that. If that's the case, then you ought to turn around and leave this team right now. If you die, I won't hold myself responsible." Her eyes glinted. "Are we clear?"

"Lady, cut the shit. I'm here, and you own me for the duration. Now stop wasting my time and tell me where you want me, and what I'm going to do at the far end." Genma flicked his senbon in irritation. The more she tried to be frightening, the less effective it was. "We're not snivelling little Academy students, we're tokujou. You give us our fucking jobs, and we do them. If one of us can't hack it, then somebody doesn't come back. Goddamn shame to be that unlucky fucker."

Raidou's eyes shot wide and a hiss slipped through his teeth as he stared at Genma, trying to convince him to quit before he dug the hole any deeper. It wasn't really out of any sense of responsibility to Genma; quite the contrary: a dead Genma wouldn't be hitting on his sister -- he really just meant to keep the team leader from killing _all _of them.

Genma smirked and flicked his senbon at Raidou, acknowledging the warning and ignoring it. He knew exactly where the face shot would be coming from, and it was time to redeem himself -- to prove once and for all that just because he was skinny and little, a few shots to the face weren't going to make him blink more than once.

Shizuka was too fast for him, at any rate -- and this time, it wasn't her fist, but her foot that came flying up to connect with Genma's face with a sickeningly satisfying crunch. She righted herself just as quickly, brushing herself off, as Aoba stared in mild horror at the blood that was now gushing from Genma's nose. Raidou merely blinked and stepped back, mostly to avoid getting any of Genma's blood on himself.

"Both you and Yamashiro could do to take after Namiashi's stunning example of shutting the fuck up when appropriate," she said with a thin-edged smile. Aoba's nervous swallow was audible. "That's taichou to you. Any more questions?"

Genma staggered back from the impact and gripped the senbon tightly in his teeth as he snorted and spit blood, which did nothing for the mess running down his face. The bridge of his nose, he was pretty sure, had collapsed. The world swam, but he stayed remarkably stable. His eyes gleamed and a crooked grin burbled up from under the blood. "Yes, taichou. Are you done, yet?"

Raidou stepped back again, distancing himself from Genma. "No, taichou. No questions." Aoba echoed the same, shutting his mouth so fast afterward that he nearly bit off his tongue. Shizuka nodded at the two of them curtly, not bothering to face Genma again.

"Shiranui, go see the medic on duty in the Hokage tower. Get your face fixed back up, and then come back out here."

Looking disgusted, Genma spit more blood into the dirt. "By your will, taichou." It had been a direct order. He turned and left, moving swiftly and liquidly back toward the far edge of the village. No one said a word while he was gone -- Aoba out of nervousness, Raidou out of pure virtue of being Raidou, and Shizuka for only the gods knew why -- and when Genma returned, still looking fairly vexed but with a considerably less broken nose, Shizuka waited until he had sauntered back into line with Aoba and Raidou before speaking.

"Our first mission is next week, A-rank," she said, voice clipped but still raw and harsh, like permanent fixtures in her tone. "Since you are not, in Shiranui's eloquent words, snivelling little Academy students, I expect you all to be prepared, ready to work with one another, and _on time_." Aoba cringed visibly and Genma looked smug. Raidou refrained from moving at all. "I'd like today's meeting to be over as soon as possible -- I'm sure you all feel similarly. I have a sick son at home that I'd like to get back to, but I sure as hell wasn't about to hold this meeting in my own home."

"I, for one, compliment you on your professionalism and generosity, taichou. Not exposing your team to your potentially contagious, but no less important for it, offspring was indubitably a good choice." Genma smirked, but slightly more respectfully. "Where do you want us, and at what time?"

Raidou decided he was just going to let Genma do all the talking. He seemed to be hellbent on getting his face broken as frequently as humanly possible, and he was also smart enough to ask the important questions. The walking cock was turning out to be of more and better use than he could possibly have anticipated.

"Village gates, nine hundred hours," Shizuka answered, and snorted at Genma. "And don't be stupid. If you catch a little head cold, Shiranui, you should be able to deal with it. I don't want you anywhere near my son for entirely different reasons -- any of you, really." She clapped her hands sharply, two rough-cut staccato beats that rang in the air briefly. "Less dawdling, boys, and more planning. We have a mission to prepare for."


	2. Chapter 1

_**Disclaimer: **Naruto is not our toy, although sometimes we wish it was. Almost everyone you meet here belongs to Masashi Kishimoto, we just borrow them, occasionally. Hayate's parents, Gekkou Ken'ichirou and Gekkou Shizuka, and Hayate's sensei, Kaifune Dana, belong to Haya Madison, and Genma's mother, Shiranui Riza, and Raidou's sister, Namiashi Yuuko, are all Penbrydd's fault. All quotes from the Tao are from Henricks's 1989 translation. (Lao-Tzu. Te-Tao Ching. ed. Henricks, Robert G. New York: Ballantine, 1989.) _

_**Author's Note:** Penbrydd frowns on simple exposition – the gaping holes in this chapter really do get filled in as time goes on, but it's a long and twisted road from here to there._

_**Warnings:**_ _A bit of the old ultra-violence, expletives, eventual yaoi (GenHaya)._

* * *

**Chapter One** - _Seven years later_

The timing could have been better, Hayate thought idly as he headed down the nearly empty hall, away from the office where he'd just received the official documents stating he'd been promoted to tokubetsu jounin rank. The sixteen-year-old chuunin -- no, tokujou now, he reminded himself with a small swell of pride -- had only just come back from a particularly nasty mission in Snow Country, on which he'd managed to catch what had proved to be not only a rare, but persistent, strain of respiratory infection. Had he been anyone else, it wouldn't have even surfaced, but then, Hayate had some particularly acute immunodeficiency problems. He'd been laid up in the hospital for nearly a month while they'd run series after series of tests and attempted to treat the infection. They hadn't really had _that_ much success, in retrospect; he was mostly just lucky the infection ran its course in an almost reasonable amount of time. He still wasn't quite recovered, just enough to be walking about without keeling over -- a significant improvement over just a couple of weeks ago. He remembered getting the news about his promotion from his father as he lay on the bed, just trying to breathe without choking. His only response to the thrilling news had been to turn the other way and cough something unpleasant up into the bucket on the side of his bed before giving his father a weak smile. He'd only been released from the hospital the previous day, now largely free of contagions, but he still felt fairly sick. He probably should have stayed in the hospital -- or at least in bed -- another week, but he'd been too restless. Whatever the infection had been, though, it had properly fucked with his asthma, and he suspected he wouldn't be going on missions any higher than D-rank for another week or two. After all, no one would want a mission partner who couldn't go more than ten paces without having to stop to cough, and they sure as hell wouldn't let him out on his own in this state. He briefly considered using his respiratory suppression jutsu just to get on a mission, but he figured the backlash when it wore off would be enough to cause him to start choking on his own lungs. It was probably better not to take that risk after all.

Hayate tried to stifle a cough low in his throat, covering his mouth, as he looked down at the scroll in his other hand. That scroll proclaimed him as a tokubetsu jounin, no longer just a middling chuunin -- though he knew that tokujou were really closer to chuunin than jounin anyway; it was just their specialisations that put them above the rest. Even so, he'd managed to make it to tokujou with his specialisation in the katana; more specifically, the Gekkou clan kenjutsu. His father had been proud, he remembered, had said that Hayate was really living up to the unofficial title of Gekkou clan prodigy. He'd been officially inducted in absentia, which was all right for him as long as he got the rank in the end. He didn't care much for ceremonies and the like (at least, not the public ones) and he was just fine with picking up the official documents at the headquarters on his own. He even almost smiled -- almost, but not quite, because a real smile rarely touched the stoic, pale face -- as he walked down the hall quietly.

It was a nice day to be him.

Genma yawned and stretched, striding lazily down the hall. He had intended to meet Raidou for lunch, but who knew? Half the time he just sort of got distracted and wandered off in pursuit of new amusements. His body turned heads, and he _knew_ it. All the more toys for him to play with, he figured with a satisfied shrug. Watching this pale slip of a kid coming down the hall, though, he was struck with an urge to play rough. The little chuunin wouldn't make him _that_ late for lunch. He waited until the sickly little creature passed him, and then turned and slid one long finger up the middle of its back, pausing as he touched the sheath of the kid's sword.

"Hey, roadkill, can you even lift that thing?" he purred into the boy's ear. His arrogant smirk implied that he was convinced otherwise, and the senbon in his mouth was poised to add injury to insult, angled just under the line of the boy's jaw like it was. Hayate shivered, though it was hard to tell if it was from Genma's proximity or just some lingering fever. Looking more bothered than severely unnerved, he leaned his face away and then neatly stepped back, opening his mouth. But instead of words, a cough came out, delivering a small wad of something sticky and ultimately gross-looking into his palm. Making a face, he wiped it on his pants leg and sniffed.

"Naturally," he said blandly, blinking blearily at the stranger -- because this man was definitely a stranger -- before him. Something felt a bit off, and it wasn't the man. It took him a moment to realize that it was the medications he'd been put on since the hospital -- they were making him feel uncomfortably dazed. A little too lethargic for his own liking. That would have explained why he hadn't reacted in time to the finger on his back, however slight. "I wouldn't be carrying if it I couldn't, would I?" He squinted slightly at the stranger, the dark circles underneath his eyes creasing with the gesture, and they carried a small hint of defensiveness. He didn't much care for the unprecedented questioning of his skills, or the epithet that had been delivered, either.

"I dunno. I've seen an awful lot of showoffy chuunin, lately. How do I know you're not one of them?" _Other than the fact that I didn't see your face at the last exam..._ Genma circled the kid, looking for an exploitable weakness. He didn't know why he felt the need to pick on the little unfortunate -- mostly he was just bored and looking for something to get his blood up a bit. "Should you even be breathing on people? What's with the lung chunks?" He looked a little pale at his own words. _Lung chunks_ were just something one didn't talk about after a mission like that one up in Iwa, last year. The sickened look was clear on Genma's face, but that was a mild reassurance to Hayate. Maybe if he got disgusted enough, Genma would stop picking at him and leave. It happened often enough.

"I'm sick," he said concisely, though he deliberately neglected to mention that he was _always_ sick -- always had been, always would be -- he'd found it was a complicated issue best left untouched with complete strangers. They didn't understand. Other people rarely did. "And I'm not a chuunin," he added, just on principle -- perhaps it was the small swell of pride bubbling quietly in his chest at the scroll in his hand that caused him to bother correcting Genma. "I'm tokujou."

There was a metallic twang as Genma almost bit through his senbon in shock. He stopped behind the kid, pressing one long finger into either side of the little roadkill's waist. "You look a little more than just 'sick'," he murmured amusedly into one ear, careful to aim the senbon away, this time. "You look like reheated death after another round in the fridge. If some sickly little stick-figure like you just made tokujou -- and with that sword, if I'm reading you right -- then somebody's got to be scraping the bottom of the barrel. How the fuck did you just meet rank with _me_?"

The tension only showed in Hayate's shoulders and the corners of his eyes as he moved away from Genma, pushing the man back as passively as one could manage while still exerting actual force. He turned slowly to face Genma, and an almost defensive expression was set on his dull face. "I earned my rank," he said flatly, coughing once, "with a lot of hard work. Probably more than you can imagine. I don't think it's up to you to decide whether or not I deserve it." His expression turned slightly sulky for a moment before he inclined his head. "And if you'll excuse me, I have to get home now." He moved away from Genma with a wheezy breath, heading for the door again.

Genma froze, looking more than just a little sick at the wheezing the kid was doing. In the back of his head, it reminded him of that mission to Iwa -- the one he'd come back from alone. It reminded him of -- _NO! You're not thinking about this! Not now, not ever! You heard nothing!_ -- of something else. (_Death rattle_, his mind hissed.) Shakily, he checked the kid with one hand on his shoulder. "Wait," he said, looking down with something that might have been honest concern, "are you sure you're all right? I mean, if you're not all right, then I need to stop being a dick and make sure you don't die. Sandaime-sama would have my head if I sat back and watched some rookie choke on his own lungs." The arrogant indifference came back slowly, but it didn't quite reach his eyes, this time, and he knew it. This was why he'd never make ANBU.

Hayate's face darkened slightly at the sudden show of concern. The kid seemed just about _offended_ by it. He never liked the ones who so quickly changed from vultures to mother hens as soon as they started to understand that his illness wasn't just a passing cold. There was a word for that, wasn't there? Fair weather friend, or something. That wasn't quite it, but it was close enough, he thought. Either way, he didn't like the sudden change in attitude. He would have preferred it if Genma had continued on being a complete jackass about him being sick.

"You're inconsistent," he told Genma blandly, coughing again. "I told you I'm fine. I'm not dying. I've been worse. This is close to healthy for me. Now if you'll stop standing in my way, I need to get home." He stepped out of Genma's path neatly, shaking his head.

"You have to get home? What are you, twelve? Mommy gonna miss her little slice of roadkill?" And Genma was rather entertained. It was writ large across his face as he kept pushing, wondering how long it would take him to get punched. He smiled wickedly and flicked the senbon with his tongue, bouncing it up and down between his teeth. "And I'm not inconsistent -- I just know when duty comes before amusement. But, you know, if you're just fine, then I'm sure you've got the time and the strength of will to amuse me something proper. You and me. Outside. We'll see how good you are with that sword. Or if you'd _really_ like to amuse me the way I most enjoy being amused, we can see how good you are with your _other_ sword."

Hayate managed to look properly offended this time. Something on his face had flickered at the comment about his mother. "I don't want to fight you," he said, voice retaining its dull calm. "Or anything else. I want to get home, because I'm still sick, and tired, and I have better things to do than have my time wasted by a bored bully looking to pick a fight."

"Better things to do than fuck me senseless? Hey, I guess there's a first time for everything. First time I put it to some twelve-year-old, and the first time I've ever been turned down. Two in one day isn't half bad. Of course, I doubt you even know what to do with that thing. Either of those things, really. Compensating for one with the other?" Yeah, he was going to get hit, this time. At least he kind of hoped he was going to get hit. It would add a nice story to tell over lunch.

Much to Genma's mild surprise, the kid didn't lash out and knock a few of his teeth in. Instead he just gave Genma a slightly surly stare, keeping his distance, though he did twitch slightly at the remark. "Sixteen," he said shortly. "Sixteen, not twelve." He was being baited, and he knew that, and that was usually enough to send him walking firmly in the other direction -- but damn. This guy, whoever the hell he was, knew how to get under the skin. "I'm not compensating for anything. Everyone in the Gekkou clan is a kenjutsu specialist. We all carry katana." He frowned, just a bit, the corners of his otherwise flat mouth turning down. The look was almost thoughtful.

"But you're the one who felt the need to mention it. Wouldn't that make you the one who's overcompensating?" His tone was bland, quiet, and almost inquisitive -- as if he wasn't directing an insult at the man before him.

Gekkou? Genma did the slightest of double-takes. _Oh, shit. _He was the right age... This was probably taichou's son. _Note to self: lay off the mom jokes._ "Yeah, well, _this_ right here --" Genma flicked the senbon. "-- is a temporary cock substitute -- sub for someone else's, not for mine. I don't get my morning protein shake and I get a little nasty." He offered a lush grin and sucked lasciviously at his senbon for a long moment. "And if you'd really like to find out if I'm compensating, you're more than welcome to come over here and do check. I'll tell you that I haven't had any complaints, yet." He stuffed his hands into his pockets and relaxed into a slightly backward leaning posture that set his hips forward ever so slightly. It was also excellent for his balance, just in case the kid tried to rush him, although he really doubted that at this point. On the other hand, if the kid was taichou's son, he had a lot more to worry about than just getting rushed. The kid's mom -- if this really was her kid, anyway -- had been something just this side of batshit in her day, and that was _before _she'd been handed a one-way ticket to the psychiatric ward.

Hayate balked slightly at the bland offer, but he recovered quickly enough. He managed a generally disapproving look instead, and coughed again, louder this time. "You _are_ inconsistent," he managed to say, the tartness almost -- but not quite -- covering up his embarrassment. "Unless you're still just teasing me. It doesn't matter either way though. I'm going home now."

"I'm not inconsistent. I'm just easily amused -- and I found the idea of getting your hands all over my junk fairly amusing. I sure as hell wouldn't slap your hands if you wanted to put them to a good use." He shrugged expressively and bobbed his senbon almost invitingly. "But I guess that you've got better places to be than on your knees, today. What a first. I'm almost ashamed of myself."

Hayate just shook his head and turned away from Genma. He was glad to have finally been let off the hook of this man's random, uncalled-for bullying. He didn't need anyone picking at his health, his skills, or anything else -- he was just fine the way he was. He didn't need to take any shit from anyone. He just needed to get _home_.

He coughed again as he headed off for the door once more, wetly this time -- he gagged, a little more loudly than intended, as he felt a wad of phlegm creep into the back of his mouth. This was a nasty one, he could feel it -- his breath was rattling noisily, an ugly wheeze.

The sound of the coughing just pushed Genma's buttons -- leaned on them, really. It was just too close to a sound he was already very familiar with -- the sound he'd heard two teammates make as they'd coughed themselves to death in a pair of hideous and godforsaken places, one bleeding from an enormous chest wound and the other regurgitating his acid-damaged lungs. He still wasn't sure he'd been lying when he'd told them they would be fine. After all, the pain stops when you die from it.

_Taichou's son is making those sounds -- is still standing and making sounds like that_. Genma moved like rushing water, swift and generally unstoppable. He swept the kid up in one arm, as the blood drained from his face, and held the boy before an open window. His other hand stroked the kid's back gently. "Spit. Don't worry about hitting anyone. Just get the shit out of your chest before you choke." His voice was still trying to be apathetic and unconcerned, but it had taken the hard edge of a man who didn't want to watch another death, even if it was a purely irrational fear. He'd held enough dead men's hands while they resigned themselves to their new condition; the last one had been enough to leave a permanent scar across his perpetual calm.

"No fair dying on my shift. I've had enough of that." He didn't think the words had actually made it out of his mouth, but he wasn't paying as much attention as he might have been.

Hayate didn't quite have the chance to protest or even be offended. Instead, he compliantly bent over the window and hacked the phlegm out of his throat and mouth. He shuddered as it slithered up his throat with every cough -- that slimy sensation was one that still succeeded in making his stomach turn. It wasn't just the texture, he knew, but also the taste -- preprocessed mucus with a dash of reheated death. He pulled away from Genma as soon as he could, stumbling back with a few extra wet coughs. He stuck his head out the window once more to clear his throat and spit, but he stepped away just as soon, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand.

"I'm fine," he said with an inconveniently placed wheeze. "I wasn't dying. Just stuff coming up. That happens a lot. More so now since I've been sick." He shook his head, still clutching the official scroll in his hand. "I'm fine. You're overreacting."

Genma looked down at the kid, almost blank-faced, except for the unsettled gleam that lurked in his eyes. From one of the multitude of pockets on his vest, he produced a small, green candy and held it out to the kid. "Melon candy? It has to taste better than your lungs."

Hayate just stared down at the proffered candy in Genma's hand. He didn't take it. It even looked like he might spit again, but he didn't -- if only out of a sense of propriety and politesse. "I'm fine," he repeated flatly. "Thank you, but I'm fine. I don't need the passing concern of a random bully who decides he needs to cover his own backside just because we're in HQ. I can take care of myself."

Genma nodded sagely before attempting the most awkward apology that had ever come from someone other than Yamashiro Aoba. "I'm not covering my ass. Our rank permits an awful lot of horseplay, even in the halls. You know, if you can amuse me of your own volition, I will stop being an asshole. Unfortunately for both of us, I'm generally a dick, on principle -- it's easy to be amused by the discomfort of others -- well, up to a point, anyway. Some things just aren't funny, but most of them are. I'd be short a best friend if Raidou hadn't punched me out the third floor window of the hospital, that one time. I cannot for the life of me remember what the fuck I said to him, either. It's a damn shame. It was a good line." He rubbed the back of his neck and stared out the window. "Seriously, though, that can't be a pleasant taste. You're sure you don't want something for it?"

Hayate eyed him with some degree of sulky scepticism, never moving closer -- but he didn't turn and bolt, either. "Why should I provide entertainment for you?" he asked, and the blank, neutral tone was back in his voice. "You don't like me, and I'm not really sure I like you, either, and I could walk out the door and we'd never have to look at each other again."

"Why should you amuse me? Maybe because I'm easily amused and far more pleasant when I'm pleased." He wasn't looking at the kid, just sort of staring out the window, addressing the birds in the trees as he rubbed the back of his neck. "And what do you get out of all this? You get somebody with a mouth like an automatic crossbow, who in exchange for the occasional mild amusement will go out of his way to be a dick for you, instead of to you. It's really the best I can offer, aside from my usual round of offers, but you've already declined interest in sucking and fucking. Oh, and the nearly limitless supply of melon candies -- I don't leave home without them." He looked down with a short laugh. "Socially inept? Me? ...Maybe. I'm just in it for the kicks. I've got better uses for my tongue than talking, most of the time."

Hayate gave Genma a long, blank look before he finally cocked his head forward slightly and squinted at him. "Did you...just ask me to be your _friend_?" His voice was pure bafflement. "Because that's the most stupid and roundabout way of asking I've ever heard, if that's what it was."

"I might have. It's easier to ask for cocksucking than for friends -- I mean, watch: Hey, you're pretty; you want to suck me off? Easy." Genma shook his head. "Friends, though...I only have one friend, these days -- two if you count Yamashiro, and I don't count Yamashiro. That man's not so much a friend as he is a social disease. There's a distinct lack of shinobi my age, you know. Funny thing about war, it thins the field." He looked back at the kid. "But, hey, you just made even rank with me, and that's gotta be worth something in the grand scheme of things. How about we try this again from the top, and I open with: 'Good job, kid. Let me take you to lunch.' What do you eat, anyway?"

Hayate regarded him with something close to wariness for a moment before he pulled back, seeming to relax. He sniffed, wiping his nose on his sleeve. "Hot things. Like noodles. Hot liquids, because they're easy on my throat." His head tilted to the side slightly as he studied Genma again with that unnervingly unblinking gaze. "You want to take me out to lunch?" It seemed the kid still needed further clarification on that fact, however obvious Genma tried to make it.

"Yeah, actually, I do." Genma looked out the window again, holding up one hand and squinting at the sun as he counted time. "Rai's running late, and I'm bored. And you seem fantastically interesting. I know this little noodle shop up the block a piece. Mizu-chan -- I know the girl whose family owns it -- makes an awesome bowl of udon and a better cup of tea."

Hayate gave a noncommittal shrug. Part of him wanted to contest what Genma was saying -- interesting? Him? He was fairly certain there were moss-covered rocks more interesting than him -- but he dropped it. He didn't particularly have the energy or desire to get into an argument. "Okay," he just said instead, quite placidly. He still wasn't sure he terribly liked this man, but he was being offered free food, and if it was poison -- well, this guy would have to be crazy to try something like that.

Genma blinked. That had been just a little bit too easy. He'd just make sure the kid never got behind him, just in case the boy was as crazy as his mother. He held out his hand to the boy, invitingly. "Brilliant. Let us go then, you and I..."

Hayate didn't take Genma's offered hand, just staring at him blankly.

"You're not going to introduce yourself?"

The hand lifted, then, in an arc of Newtonian motion -- the equal and opposite reaction to the question -- which ended as it met Genma's forehead, palm first, with a sharp sound. "Shiranui Genma. Also known as the town bicycle." He figured the kid would understand the reference, and it was, of course, absolutely true. He had turned down one person that he could remember, and that was Anko. One, she was too young, and two, the girl with the freaky snake hands did not get a ride. Snake jutsu did not belong anywhere near his pants, he'd decided.

Hayate gave him another blank stare, though this time it seemed to be tinted with surprise. He studied Genma's face for another long moment, even squinting a little, before he straightened up and shrugged. "Okay. Which way is the noodle shop?" To have said that he wasn't in even just a little awe that Shiranui Genma -- _the_ Shiranui Genma -- was talking to him and taking him out to lunch would have been a lie. But, he reasoned, people were people, and it was nothing to make a huge fuss over.

Genma pulled the door open and pointed to the left. "Up the street a piece." He raised an eyebrow at the kid. "Do I get the rest of your name, Gekkou-san, or shall I spend the rest of the day trying not to hear your mother's voice in the back of my head every time I address you?"

Hayate started to move forward, but jerked immediately -- like a puppet whose strings had been yanked -- at the mention of his mother. He looked back at Genma with some degree of alarm flashing in his eyes, but he still didn't bolt. "Hayate." He eyed Genma again. "You know my mom?" He almost didn't ask -- he almost stopped himself. Plenty of people knew his mother, he was well aware, before she'd been permanently confined to the psych ward. She'd been a talented shinobi as well as an experienced member of ANBU. But this man before him, looking just in his twenties -- it seemed odd.

"I know her well enough to have called her taichou. I am assuming, of course, that you are actually Shizuka-taichou's son, and not just a cousin or something. My son this and my son that. She used to get on Raidou's case all the time about how her nine year old son could mop the floor with him. Rai's the other swordsman. It used to be me and him and Yamashiro. Now it's mostly him and Yamashiro. I get sent out alone." Genma shrugged, looking just a bit bitterly nostalgic.

Hayate had stopped walking altogether, staring at Genma. He hadn't even heard most of the second half of what Genma had said. _I know her well enough to have called her taichou_.

Hayate had only been a little boy when his mother had been discharged from ANBU, but he remembered it all the same. He remembered the aftermath of her last bloody mission and the four-month stay in the psych ward that had ultimately resulted in the termination of her membership. He knew that in the two-year period between her discharge from ANBU and her final trip to the psych ward, she'd headed a three-man cell of tokujou at least part time. She'd never mentioned their names -- she'd never really talked about them much to Hayate, really, but he'd heard her talking to his father about it. She'd always used snide, derisive nicknames in reference to them -- but he did remember mention of another kenjutsu specialist, at least, as well of a good deal of other things. He stared at Genma unblinkingly, in some kind of twisted, wistful disbelief.

"You were on my mom's team?" he finally managed to get out.

"Bloody nose," Genma replied, raising one hand and rubbing his face with the other. "It's nearly perfect, now. I've got one favourite medic who got really good at setting it, and now you can't even tell how many times taichou broke it for me." The answer wasn't quite a complete non-sequitur, and if the old gate team were still around, they'd have recognised the reference. Unfortunately, the gate team had been the first men down in -- that thing -- the Fire. His fingers twitched as he pushed away the sound of flames. He hoped it wasn't a stretch to imagine that if Hayate didn't know him by name, the kid would at least know him by Shizuka-taichou's favourite thing to call him.

Hayate was peering at him again, studying him with that unsettling sort of curiosity, but something seemed to have shifted in the way he looked at Genma now. It was something less guarded, more open -- almost childishly hopeful. "That was you?" He'd heard that particularly epithet more than once -- it definitely had seemed to be his mother's favourite thing to call that particular member of her team -- but there was something so deeply unnerving about actually seeing that person's face and talking to him. Somewhere along the line, his mother's teammates -- that he'd never even seen -- had stopped being people so much as they had been characters in a story that was part of his mother's life. Until now, he'd never met them, never seen them, never even heard their proper names. They hadn't ever completely felt real to Hayate, and the fact that he'd heard about them during a bout of fever more than once had never helped to push away the surreal sense he'd associated with them. His mother was so far removed from reality at times that it wouldn't have surprised him all that much to have learned that she'd made them all up in the end.

But she hadn't, because here was one of them standing right in front of his face, taking him out to lunch just minutes after he'd so blatantly bullied the kid, talking about his mother like he'd _known_ her -- because he had. He'd known her in a way that few other people had, and even though it wasn't the same way Hayate knew her, he couldn't help but think that there was still something deeply intimate about it. He kept on looking at Genma, hardly blinking. It felt so jarringly real it was _un_real. He sucked in a breath, still wheezy.

"Let's go to lunch."

"By your will, kid. You'll forgive me, I expect, if I don't want you behind me?" Genma could see the reality of who he was settling into the kid. He, himself, was, of course, trying very hard not to think about who Hayate was -- there was no reason to assume Hayate was as crazy as his mother, but there was no evidence to the contrary, either, and honestly, that made him more than a little nervous. He eyed the sword for a moment. "My left. You should walk on my left." With a nod, he gestured for the kid to precede him out of the building. Hayate gave him a dull blink, but didn't protest or argue, moving around to Genma's left. He seemed to understand, at least vaguely, Genma's precautions. _He_ knew he wasn't as crazy as his mother, but not everyone knew that, and he supposed he could understand that. Few people treated him like they did his mother -- many people just treated him like something to be avoided, if they didn't overlook him completely or even praise him for his skills with his sword -- but it wasn't the first time.

"I guess I can use the sword after all," he supposed to Genma as he started for the door, and if he had not sounded so serious it would have been an entirely snarky remark.

"I don't take unnecessary chances. Someone wants to take issue, I need to be able to reach my weapons --" Genma tapped the slim pouch on his thigh. "-- and you need to be able to draw without inadvertently decapitating me. This is the sensible solution." He let the door close behind them.


	3. Chapter 2

_**Disclaimer:**Naruto is not our toy, although sometimes we wish it was. Almost everyone you meet here belongs to Masashi Kishimoto, we just borrow them, occasionally. Hayate's parents, Gekkou Ken'ichirou and Gekkou Shizuka, and Hayate's sensei, Kaifune Dana, belong to Haya Madison, and Genma's mother, Shiranui Riza, and Raidou's sister, Namiashi Yuuko, are all Penbrydd's fault. All quotes from the Tao are from Henricks's 1989 translation. (Lao-Tzu. Te-Tao Ching. ed. Henricks, Robert G. New York: Ballantine, 1989.) _

_**Author's Note:** Mizumi is full of violent awesome and absolute win. Yay for hot pepper induced adrenaline-powered stupidity._

_**Warnings:** A bit of the old ultra-violence, expletives, eventual yaoi (GenHaya)._

* * *

**Chapter Two**

Considering the fact that Genma seemed to be on guard despite the fact that they were both off duty and the kid barely looked to be a threat, Hayate might have expected the walk to the noodle shop down the street to be at least a little bit awkward. Oddly enough, it wasn't. Mostly, it was just quiet, save for Hayate's frequent wheezy coughing and occasional spitting. He walked slightly ahead and to the left of Genma compliantly, lidded eyes focused loosely on the space before them. He had a quietly noticeable gait, odd for someone with such rumoured grace -- he dragged his feet with every step, sandals scraping over the ground audibly.

Genma was the first to speak, burdened as he was with a constant insatiable curiosity about all things not himself. "Two points: I saw your eye twitch when I told you who I was and when I said I used to work with your mother. You've obviously heard stories. Do I live up to any of them, or am I nothing more than just another pretty face?" He angled the senbon up, inquisitively, as he looked down sideways at Hayate. Hayate just gave him that deadpan blank look, as if considering the question.

"I, um, didn't ever really hear a lot about you from my mom," he admitted, shrugging lightly. "She never really talked about you guys to me, just my dad, and sometimes I overheard her yelling. When she did talk to me, I was usually sick. So I don't know. Your face isn't broken, but that's...probably because she's not here." He seemed to be having difficulty getting all the words out. It was a difficult subject.

"And may the gods preserve me from any further facial damage at the hands of your family. I stopped counting after the seventeenth broken nose. I'm not wholly sure my nose was ever _not_ broken, that entire two years." Genma looked up, speculatively, flicking the senbon as he considered. "And you obviously don't like talking about your mother, so let's move on. I'm sure you've heard worse things, elsewhere."

Hayate just nodded slowly, keeping on with his steps until he realized that he hadn't quite answered all of Genma's question. "I have heard other things about you, though. Mostly the stuff that gets passed around the village. Rumours and things." He paused, noting the highly expectant look on Genma's face. "I thought you'd be better looking," he informed Genma after a pregnant silence, utterly straight-faced.

Genma flinched away from the kid at the sudden crippling blow to his ego. "Ouch. I'm...that's...I don't think I've ever heard that one before. I'm..." He actually looked kind of sad and a little disgusted with himself. "I'm really not hot? I must be having a really off day. I've been hot with my face broken and my arm in a sling." Concern was writ large upon his face, and it didn't help his case any. "So what is it? What's wrong with me?"

Hayate looked honestly taken aback by Genma's response. He blinked at Genma in mild surprise, as if trying to figure out how genuine that reply had been. "Oh, um...you didn't...I wasn't serious. I was just, um...it was supposed to be a joke. Um. I'm not funny. I'm sorry."

Relief crept across Genma's face just before it settled back into the indifferent calm that was so standard. "Oh. Oh, good. You scared me for a minute, there. I think the last person to say I wasn't hot was Ibiki, and well, that's to be expected -- I think I'd freak directly out if Ibiki...you know, I'm just not going to think about that. Oh, and Rai, but he doesn't bother saying it, and it doesn't count. I'd pay attention to that if he possessed a sex drive at all. From those two, I'll take it. I'd never try to do anything with either of them. It would just be whole new kinds of wrong." He nodded and stretched. "And why do you sound so serious all the time? Context clues define a joke, you know."

Hayate shrugged. "It's just the way I am," he said simply. "I don't make jokes a lot. It's not a really big deal, anyway." He'd be the first to admit he wasn't the master of comedy -- hell, he wasn't really a master of anything, really, except maybe the family jutsu, and even that he was still working on.

Genma shrugged lazily and stuffed his hands in his pockets. "As you say, kid. I don't suppose it does. Strikes me a bit off that you don't smile, though. Don't suppose I've given you much to smile about."

"I just don't smile much, that's all." Hayate thought that was an odd observation to make about someone -- but then, Genma seemed to be an odd character all around. Not surprising, really, considering he'd spent a good amount of time around Gekkou Shizuka. "It's not really a big deal."

"What can I say? It bothers me. I live for myself. I live to be entertained, and people who are obviously not having fun kind of disturb me. Distress me, even." He reached out and opened the door of the small, nondescript building they were in front of. "Here. It's a small place, but the food is wonderful." Rich smells of fish and spices poured out into the street. Hayate sniffed as the pleasant aromas wafted into his nose, then covered his mouth as he sneezed. Making a face, he wiped his hand on his pants leg again.

"I've never been here," he said, and paused. "I didn't say I wasn't having fun. This is still kind of a weird thing to call fun, but I didn't say I was unhappy or anything."

"It's a good place. Mizu-chan doesn't even let me see the menu, anymore -- just starts cooking when she sees my face, and she's usually right." Genma grinned, lopsidedly, the senbon throwing off the angle ever so slightly. Hayate just blinked back at him for a moment, but there seemed to be something about Genma's smile that was as dangerously infectious as most of the illnesses that ended up taking him down half the time. He coughed again -- this time it seemed more like a nervous tic -- and the corners of his mouth twitched slightly. It was a small smile, pretty fucking pathetic when it came down to it, but it was_something_, and that something cut right through Genma like a white-hot kunai under the ribs.

"You...ah..." Genma cleared his throat and tried again. "You should smile more often. You're really...cute." It was obvious that cute wasn't the word he wanted, but now was not the time to get into a full-blown discussion on the nature of aesthetics. This kid that he'd been calling roadkill not fifteen minutes earlier lit up like an entire shrine's worth of candles when he smiled. The tiny facial stutter that might have gone unnoticed on anyone else -- would have been nothing more than a fifteen-watt blip at most -- just made the horrific parody of humanity before him _glow_. There was a clear, if well-hidden, potential for genuine beauty buried in the kid -- he was Shizuka-taichou's son, after all, and she'd been art in motion; it had to be there -- but he'd never expected it to come out quite like_that_. Genma resolved to keep Hayate as close as he could for as long as he was able, if only to have some true beauty constantly at his side -- and beauty that wouldn't detract attention from himself. He intended to study the kid like he studied the Tao -- in the end, to know every possible interpretation, every glitch and mistranslation. And all for a single smile. Genma was hooked. Hard.

Hayate blinked, and the fifteen-watt smile flickered out just as quickly as it'd appeared, replaced by an expression of genuine, if not faint, surprise. Had he heard Genma right? Had Genma just called him_cute_?

He was starting to wonder if Genma was every bit as crazy as his mother.

"I, um..." Hayate tried to think of something to say to that, but the next time he tried to open his mouth, words didn't quite come out. Instead, it was another loud, wet, unpleasant-sounding cough, and he held his hand up in an apologetic gesture as he bent over the bushes just outside the restaurant and proceeded to cough up another wad of nasty-tasting lung butter, hacking and shuddering.

The door slipped out of Genma's fingers as the blood drained from his perfectly calm face. "Are you -- stupid question. Is there anything I can -- equally stupid question." Craning his neck toward the shrubbery, just to reassure himself that nothing _bloody_ had come up, he stuffed his hands back into his pockets to hide the shaking. Genma was the very image of placidity. Hayate just kept his hand up, now trying to reassure Genma that he was just fine and could handle himself. He choked and shook for another few agonizingly long moments, hacking and spitting into the grass, before he stood up. His breathing was ragged and wheezy, even after he cleared his throat and spat one last time, and he wiped his mouth on the back of his hand.

"Sorry," he heaved, looking mildly disgusted. "I, um. Still sick. Doesn't usually happen that often." He coughed again, but nothing quite came up this time. "I just got out of the hospital yesterday, that's all. Still kind of sick."

"If you're good, I'm good." Genma reached for the door again. "It's just a little nostalgic, that's all. Brings back the bad old days in vivid detail." He didn't look all that perturbed -- it was something he really worked at, and usually succeeded at, these days. "You done for now?"

Hayate nodded, shivering as he swallowed. "Yeah. I'm fine," he muttered. "Sorry."

"As you say." Genma pulled the door open again and gestured for Hayate to precede him. "There is tea to be had and beautiful women to be observed."

Hayate managed to give Genma something of a half-blank stare before he shuffled into the restaurant, one hand hovering cautiously over his mouth. He was in a restaurant now; it really wouldn't do to start coughing and sneezing everywhere when people were trying to _eat_. He let Genma lead them to a table for two by the window, sitting down heavily in the wooden chair.

"Mizu-chan!" Genma called out, "I'm back to make more trouble!" He offered Hayate a slightly self-deprecating smirk. "She and I, we had a thing. Then we got bored. Now she cooks me noodles and critiques my taste in friends. Lovely girl." He was flippant and droll, but not sarcastic.

A small woman in her mid-twenties appeared from the kitchen, drying her hands on a small towel. "Genma-kun! I'm always in the mood for your kind of trouble," she teased. "Who's your little friend?"

"This is Gekkou Hayate." Genma shook his head slightly, a warning that she was _not_ to mention the obvious. "Hayate, this is Takenaka Mizumi -- Mizu-chan to me, and only to me, for reasons best not discussed in polite company." He ducked, but not fast enough, and Mizumi caught him in the head with the towel. Hayate just sort of nodded, inclining his head to Mizumi.

"Hello," he said, voice quiet and subdued as seemed the usual with him.

Mizumi bowed politely. "Pleased to meet you. Pomegranate white tea, today, boys." She vanished back to the kitchen to retrieve it.

Genma rubbed the side of his head disconsolately. "She's not even a kunoichi. I just don't have reflexes when my life's not on the line."

Carrying two cups and a teapot, Mizumi reappeared. She set the cups on the table with a resounding crack, and then filled them as she glared at Genma. "I used to think you'd develop a sense of taste as you got older. Maybe I was wrong." She smiled at Hayate. "What's a nice boy from a good family doing out in public with this ragged old whore, hm? People might get the wrong idea."

"Jealousy doesn't suit you, Mizumi." Genma's tone was slightly warning, but thoroughly coated in jest.

"Why would I be jealous, Genma? You're not going to tell me no, and I'm not going to ask." She shrugged and set down the teapot. Hayate blinked, as if bewildered, and coughed quietly into his hand.

"I, um. Genma-san's okay, really." He fumbled slightly as he tried to come up with a concise explanation for why they were eating lunch together that was anything but what Mizumi was implying. "He was, um. On my mother's team." It wasn't what he'd wanted to say at all -- he hadn't wanted to mention his mother -- but at least it was the truth.

"I know," she said with a sad smile. "I remember. He's pretty with a bloody face." Mizumi reached out, grabbed Genma's nose, and shook his head.

"Ow! Shit! My face! Mizu-chan!" Whining ill-suited Genma.

"You," Mizumi yanked Genma's nose again, "will eat what I give you, today. Would you like a menu, Hayate-san, or do you trust your friend to order for you?"

Hayate raised his hand slightly off the table. "Ah. I'd like a menu, please. I've never been here before, so..." He trailed off, ending with a brief cough.

Pulling a menu from the back of her apron, Mizumi handed it to Hayate. "Not going to argue with me, Genma-kun?"

"Why would I argue?" His voice was slightly nasal as he checked his nose for damage. "You're usually right and you cook good food. Even when you're wrong I have few complaints."

"You have _no_ complaints. I haven't heard you bitch once." Mizumi smiled at Hayate. "I'll be back in a few moments to get your order. I just have to start cooking for tall, pale, and stupid, here." She started back toward the kitchen. Hayate just sort of blinked, as if reeling from the sheer force of her personality, and picked up the menu.

Well. Mizumi was...interesting, to say the least. Forceful and a little intimidating, but that wasn't anything he hadn't had plenty of experience dealing with in his own lifetime. He scanned the menu briefly before his eyes settled on the udon. Udon, he reasoned, was a relatively safe choice, because there was virtually no way to mess it up (unless there was too much nori in it, but that was another matter entirely). "I think I'm going to get this," he said, tapping on the menu.

Genma looked over, curiously, and nodded. "Hey, Mizu-chan!" he shouted, to be heard over the sizzle of the wok, "The kid wants udon!"

"Hai!" The return shout was crisp -- the sound of someone used to shouting to be heard over the sound of her cooking.

"So, you've heard stories about me, and I've heard stories about you... And none of these stories can be compared to reality in public." Genma lifted his tea and sipped at it, watching Hayate over the rim of the cup. "Perhaps it is time to make new stories."

Hayate picked up his own tea for the first time, regarding Genma with his eyes only as he sipped at it. It was a refreshing sort of flavour, he discovered, and realised he'd never actually had this kind of tea before. "What do you mean?" he asked placidly.

"I mean that you're interesting. There's something about you that I find oddly appealing." _Like that amazing smile, perhaps?_ "It seems that instead of relying on the impressions of others for context, we should make impressions of our own. You are more than roadkill, and I am more than a lazy asshole. These things, however, are the first things that we see of each other. No better or worse than the first impressions most people have of either of us, I'm sure." That might not have been entirely the truth. Genma had a slight preference for 'cheap whore' over 'lazy asshole'.

"So what do you want to do, exactly?" Hayate watched Genma for an answer. He didn't seem to be making any particular point that Hayate could see, just talking in circles.

"I want to be amused." Genma smiled in a reasonably pleasant fashion that left one just a bit cautious about what might come next. "Same thing I always want. Tell me about you, and I'll tell you about me. We can move on like reasonable individuals from there. First time I've made a friend in a non-combat situation. The rules are different, here, and I think we should get all our cards on the table right at the start -- or at least enough of them that we can play nicely together."

Hayate just sipped at his tea, taking that in. He set the tea down with a gentle clink against the table. "Okay, then. What do you want to know about me?"

"What is your opinion on the nature of a shinobi?" Genma paused for a long moment, sipping his tea. "Sorry, I'm joking. What do you enjoy most in the world?"

"I don't know," Hayate said plainly. "Maybe training. Working on kata. Not being sick." He was a simple person, with equally simple answers.

"The sensible things, I see." Genma nodded. "I enjoy the feeling of hands on my skin, the subtle textures in the reflection of the moon in the river, and meditating on the Tao. I'm afraid I'm a bit of a hedonist. Next question is yours."

Hayate was quiet, taking in the answers and considering each one. Genma, he decided then, was a complicated person who liked complicated things. "Uhm...I don't know, ah...what's your favourite food?"

Genma had to think about that question for a good long time. He sipped his tea and contemplated. There was, of course, a difference between 'favourite food' and 'most frequently eaten food'. Melon and spiced beef seemed equally high on the list, with plum as a close second, if only because plum went with so few things, but those things it went with, it went with _well_. Then the answer struck him. "Pomegranate. It is eccentric -- more sharp than sweet, difficult and messy to eat, and it goes with nothing but the taste of skin. It is, I think, the perfect fruit, if one I rarely have occasion to eat. And you?"

Every word that came out of Genma's mouth just further convinced Hayate that Genma liked things complicated. He gave a noncommittal shrug. "I don't really know," he said, glancing back toward the kitchen. "Tea. Hot noodles. I just like things that don't make me sick."

Genma sipped his tea and considered the aesthetics of simplicity. There was certainly something to be said for the quiet and plain solution to anything, but he frequently found that it was that much easier to look like an unshakeable badass when things were anything but calm and plain. "Tea is always the correct answer. There is a tea for all times." He nodded sagely and sipped at his cup again. "Next question: Dogs or cats?" He had a particular interest in this answer ever since Kakashi's dogs had left the corpses of several cats on the stairs of the building Genma lived in. He'd been rather upset about it -- more upset than he'd been about the unfortunate demise of his last team.

"Um..." Hayate shrugged. "I don't know. I never really thought about it. They're both okay, I guess. Cats are quieter, but...it doesn't really matter to me. I've never had a pet anyway."

"I always tried to tell myself that pets are as bad as children, but that was before I found myself with an orphaned kitten. Rai likes to make fun of me for it, sometimes. Calls me 'mommy'." Genma's hand crept up to rub the back of his neck. "I like cats. They're like small, fuzzy ninjas." He waved for Hayate to ask the next question. The kid faltered for a moment, trying to think of a fairly innocuous question. He might have been awkward and a little clumsy socially, but he wasn't so stupid as to ask about fears or battle scars.

"Uh..." Hayate scratched at his nose. It itched like hell. What the hell kind of medication did they have him on, anyway? It didn't seem to be doing him a whole lot of good, he thought glumly. "Do you live in an apartment?" he asked lamely, saying the first thing that came to mind.

Genma nodded. "I do. And as I recall, you don't. Am I right? Still living in the old family home?" He sipped at his tea and tried to come up with another question. Hayate nodded slowly, reasoning that it wasn't all _that_ surprising that Genma would know where he lived, considering he'd worked with his mother all that time. He wondered briefly if Genma had ever actually been to the house, or been inside it -- Hayate certainly couldn't remember ever seeing him there.

It was an effort to have gotten this far without saying something tasteless, and Genma was about to damage his current streak of good taste. "Girls, boys, both, or neither?" he asked, gazing placidly across the table into Hayate's eyes as he sipped his tea, thoughtfully. Hayate seemed to stiffen, the defensiveness sliding back into place behind his eyes.

"I don't think that's really any of your business," he said plainly, picking up his cup of tea again. It wasn't even that he was a secretive person, but to have Genma -- even Genma, who had known his mother and who probably felt some sort of odd kinship with him for it -- ask an intimate question like that out of nowhere seemed uncalled for and a little bit unsettling. Why he needed to know any of that was beyond Hayate.

"Touchy subject." Genma's eyebrows arced up in surprise. "My apologies, but since I asked, I'll answer. Both, although I suspect you knew that."

Mizumi strode to the table carrying two large bowls which she sat on the table loudly, but without spilling a drop. As soon as her hands were free, she yanked on Genma's nose again. "Don't."

He blinked in shock. "Ow! I'm not! Do I look suicidal?"

She cuffed him in the back of the head. "You will. And don't come crying to me when it all burns down."

Genma's hands tightened into white knuckled fists and his eyes hardened as he looked up at the little waitress. "Word choice."

Mizumi jabbed a finger at him. "Burns. Down." She stormed off toward the kitchen, and Hayate shifted uncomfortably in his seat as he reached for a pair of chopsticks. Something unpleasant and awkward had passed between Genma and Mizumi, but not nearly cleanly enough, and it had gotten messy and leaked heavily into the atmosphere hanging over the table. Hayate didn't quite like the feeling.

He decided, though, that the best solution to this unfortunate dive in mood was to keep quiet. Talking usually led to more problems, he'd learned, because hardly anyone ever said the right thing at the right time, and no one could point the finger at you if you said nothing at all. He snapped the chopsticks apart and muttered a thanks over his food, leaning over the bowl of udon to inhale the aroma before he dipped his chopsticks in.

Genma stared into the eye-watering cloud of spice that hung over his bowl. "I must have pissed her off something right and proper," he muttered. "Just so you know, I think that's Mizumi being right, again. She doesn't trust my intentions." _Not that I trust my intentions, either, but I'm really not suicidally stupid._ "She's going to go write herself a note, and the next time I come in here looking like I just got my ass gnawed off, she's going to find that note and tell me she told me so, complete with written proof." He smiled calmly, as if nothing in the world were wrong, and picked up his chopsticks intending to lay right in to whatever tongue-stripping delicacy Mizumi had chosen to gift him with, this time.

Hayate returned the smile, but it was so nervous and disfigured it looked more like a deeply unsettled grimace. He began slurping up the thick noodles without a word, silently admiring the quality and flavour. He wasn't much of a culinary expert, but he could at least tell that Mizumi was talented.

After poking at his own bowl of noodles for a few moments, Genma finally figured out what he was about to be eating. It appeared to be yakisoba, but topped with some kind of meat and those bright orange peppers of instant death that Mizumi was so fond of using. With a quiet sigh, he closed his left hand around the edge of the table and took the first bite. Tears sprung to his eyes and he swallowed quickly, but went back for another bite instead of reaching for the tea. If he just kept going, he'd blow out his nerves, and he'd be able to eat the whole bowl without further trauma. A bright red flush spread across his face and he sniffled, trying to keep his nose from running into his food.

Hayate looked up from his udon -- it was an entirely pleasant taste, one that was mild but still flavourful, and he liked it. Spotting Genma looking about to spout smoke from his nose and mouth, Hayate's forehead creased, and he swallowed, putting his chopsticks down. "Um. Are you all right?"

"Not yet, but I will be," Genma rasped, closing his eyes so that he could focus on making coherent sentences. "Adrenaline should hit any minute now." He held up a finger and then took another bite, the table creaking in the grip of his other fist. As he swallowed, he coughed, gasped, and finally reached for his tea.

"There." Genma's eyes opened, preternaturally calm. "Nothing like the wrath of a woman to put all the nerves on high. Although I'm not sure why she'd _want_ to do that to me, since she seems so bent on making sure I _don't_ try anything with you. Maybe she's forgotten how much I like the death-peppers. They tend to leave me pleasantly philosophical."

Hayate seemed to draw back a little, just nodding vaguely in response -- _smile and nod, smile and nod_. He slurped his noodles without speaking, hoping to finish quickly so he could go home. He didn't have any _entirely_ pressing appointments, but he was sure there were things to do at home that would have to be taken care of sooner or later, and while he wasn't opposed to spending time in the company of one of his mother's former teammates, this man was starting to unsettle and discomfit him more than he could conveniently ignore.

Eyeing the kid with moderate concern, Genma slurped at the oily, red broth that he knew was hidden under the half-bowl of noodles that remained. "You don't look entirely at ease. Was it something I said?"

Hayate just shifted in his seat again, shrugging uneasily. He didn't give a real, direct answer besides that -- he'd never been much of a liar, and he wasn't about to deliberately offend someone he'd only just met, particularly a senior of his. Genma, however pretty and stupid he may have appeared, was just a bit brighter than he tended to get credit for. Bright enough, in fact, to read the shrug like an open book.

"Yes, it was something I said, and for some unfathomable reason, possibly my fame, rank, or association with your mother, you don't want to tell me what it was. I assure you, the only reason that Mizu-chan is so good at pushing my buttons is that she knows where all of them are, and she likes to push them on purpose. Otherwise, I'm like a stand of bamboo in a stiff breeze. I just bend. You're not going to upset me if you tell me what I've done wrong." He gulped a few more mouthfuls of the scalding noodles. Hayate just shrugged again, this time looking more relaxed.

"It's not important." He managed a brief smile at Genma. "I'm fine."

_A smile. The kid smiled. _Genma's face froze, cautiously dead calm as his throat rebelled against the noodles he had been in the midst of swallowing. He reached out and poured himself another cup of tea and emptied the cup down his throat before pouring again, this time for both of them. "Sorry. Noodles stuck in my throat." Not the whole truth, but a respectable portion of it, he thought. "And I'm still right. You really are just stunning when you smile. You ever develop an interest in someone, you'll knock them flat on the first try with that one. The most natural beauty I've ever seen in a man..." He trailed off, deep in speculation, and then just shrugged and went back to his noodles. He was almost done.

"Um. Okay." Hayate sipped at his tea and went back to finishing off the bits of vegetables floating in the broth of the udon. He was beginning to seriously consider the theory that overexposure to his mother in the field had made Genma every bit as loopy. Genma would not have disagreed with the assessment, although he might have pointed to a few other things that had done near-equal amounts of damage. He finished his noodles and set the bowl aside, sipping his tea and lazily watching Hayate with undisguised mild interest.

"Graceful, too, even if you do hide it." Cocking his head to the side, Genma smiled faintly. "Why do you hide it? You have a simple grace and a bright smile. Why keep them to yourself?"

"I don't..." Hayate frowned, almost thoughtfully. "I'm not hiding anything. I just don't smile as much as other people. It's not a big deal."

"I more meant the grace. You move beautifully, but only when you're not walking. I wonder if anyone has ever bothered to notice." Philosophical, indeed. Genma had trouble keeping his speculations to himself after eating particularly spicy things. The adrenaline loosened his tongue. The few people who knew him well enough to have noticed the effect had a nasty tendency to use it against him when they wanted the truth instead of the flippant half-truths he specialised in. "I rather enjoy watching you -- you're like the breeze in the trees, simple, straightforward, and still oddly suggestive, describing unseen twists of the current with flickers of the leaves." He sipped his tea idly. Hayate just gave him another blank stare.

"Um...all right." He turned his head to cough, sniffling, and shrugged. "I don't try to hide anything. That's just the way I walk. It's not the way I run or move with a sword, but it's the way that I walk. It's not tiring. Why does it matter?"

"I just have an eye for beautiful things. You almost make me wish I'd been an artist instead of a shinobi, but it's much too late for that, now. I just find you oddly enjoyable." Genma continued to sip his tea, but picked up a napkin and passed it across the table. "Blow your nose. Sniffling is unbecoming, and, frankly, I've seen worse things than a snot-soaked rag."

Hayate almost looked sulky for a moment as he took the napkin and blew his nose into it, sniffling afterwards if only out of habit. "That's a first," he muttered quietly, picking up the bowl to drink the broth.

"I think that's the first time I've heard that remark in casual conversation. What, exactly, is a first? I don't think I've said anything particularly peculiar, and I can't imagine you've never been offered a snotrag..." Genma smiled serenely across the table, flicking his senbon in amusement.

Hayate lowered the bowl slowly. "Well...okay, not a first. But, um...people don't usually...like being around me. I'm too sick."

"If you're not contagious, I can't really care. Even if you are contagious, I've got the constitution of a horse. I'm not really afraid of catching something. I'm much more afraid that one of these days I'm going to get quietly poisoned by someone's uncle in the interests of protecting the family name." Genma sipped his tea and nodded thoughtfully. "Or inhaling acid. I'm terrified of that, but only on missions." _That's right. Joke about it. It doesn't eat at you nearly as much if you can make it funny, even for a little while._ The teacup shook very slightly in his hand as he set it back on the table. _Stupid. Why did that even come out of your mouth_? Genma remained a vision of placidity, with the exception of his hands, which he folded on the table to keep them still. Hayate just peered at him over his tea. Genma was a worrying person.

"I, um. I guess. Some people just get really put off by all the coughing. I guess a lot of people find it really unattractive, or something." Hayate managed a shrug and downed the rest of the tea. "I'm...ah, I'm done. Are you?"

Genma fished a handful of coins out of his pocket and counted a few onto the table. "I can be. Nothing left but tea and conversation, and I seem to recall that you had better things to do, today," he teased. "Some other time, perhaps. I suspect that I'll see you again." Standing, he held out his hand to Hayate, and pushed his own chair back in with his foot. After only the briefest hesitation, Hayate accepted the gesture, and a small smile slipped onto his face despite himself. The entire encounter hadn't been all that bad, really, even with the near-constant discomfort -- it was, at least, a lot better than it would have been if Genma had decided to just haze him.

Looking down at the boy standing mere inches from him, Genma found himself momentarily struck, not only dumb, but stupid. He flicked the senbon once with his tongue and returned the smile without thinking. It was, finally, an honest smile -- one with no extraneous content. "You know, the more I look at you, the more I'm sure I want to see you again. Would you be terribly offended if I asked you to come down to the river with me, one of these days, just to eat fruit and watch the water go by?"

Hayate was certain he did the blinking equivalent of a double take then. Genma -- strange, complicated, village bicycle Genma -- had enjoyed his company enough that he wanted to see Hayate again. That he was trying to _organize_ another such meeting. Sure, Genma was weird, and he discomfited Hayate more than most people did -- but he _talked_ to Hayate, and Hayate thought that that was something in itself. He'd grown to like his own company more than most men in his short life, but if someone was willing to sit next to him and _talk_ to him, talk to him like he was a person and not a walking disease...

And Genma knew his mother. The mother that had been all but taken away from him on the eve of his eleventh birthday. There was something there, some vague connection that Hayate had only just begun to close his fingers around, and it was something he wanted to fully grasp, however selfish of a motive that might have been.

"Um. All right."

"Brilliant," Genma declared, and the smile broadened. "I've got an assassination this weekend, so how about next Wednesday? I should be done throwing up by then." To Genma, it was perfectly logical to spend a day or two throwing up after an assassination mission. It was just that thing that one did. Just another little quirk.

Hayate just nodded slowly, looking slightly rattled again. He just kept going on and off with being discomfited, because Genma kept going on and off with being a perfectly reasonable, comfortable person to someone who seemed to have even less idea of 'tact' than Hayate himself. "I, ah...all right. I'm suspended from missions for a little while anyway."

"Ouch. What a goddamn shame. Sometimes the missions are all that keep a man in his wits." Genma finally stepped back and bowed, kissing Hayate's hand before he released it. "Wednesday, then." In the corner of his vision, he registered Mizumi moving toward them. Now was probably the time to make his exit before he wound up with another bloody nose. Still, he waited just a moment longer, just watching Hayate. The kid looked vaguely startled at the gesture, and his hand twitched as it fell to his side.

"Okay. Wednesday. Um...what time?"

Mizumi, thankfully, had gotten diverted by a customer who seemed to want something fairly complicated. She glared at Genma over the top of the man's head, and Genma began to just look smug. "Two? Early afternoon is usually pleasant, even if I do prefer the middle of the night. I suspect you actually sleep at night."

"Sometimes." Hayate coughed. "Okay. I'll, um...I'll see you then." He took a couple of short steps toward the door, looking awkward. "Ah...thank you for lunch."

Genma just smiled contentedly and bowed again as Hayate made his quick exit. No more words needed to be said, and every word that left his mouth was just going to make the beating he was about to receive that much more painful. One of these days, he promised himself, he would learn to dodge people who couldn't inflict serious damage. It had just been a waste of time, so far -- he'd never learned to dodge Shizuka, either, and that damage hadn't been the death of him. The thought trailed off as he adjusted his perception of what was going on behind him, where Mizumi was.


End file.
